


Anders to Anders

by OtakuElf



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, Exorcisms, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the DAKM prompt  "I don't care how they are separate, be it because DA2!Anders is not really the real Anders or be it through some magical mishap that brings a past version of Anders to the present, but I want a nice dose of Anders/Anders.</p><p>Also wouldn't mind this as an Anders/Fenris/Anders sandwich."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Division

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116 for beta-ing!

Anders - Free clinic apostate healer of Darktown in Kirkwall, former Grey Warden, and one time enchanter in the Kinloch Circle - blinked at the ceiling, or rather lack of ceiling. The sunlight speckled down on him past a spray of oval, grey-green leaves. The light shifted as a breeze slipped through the trees, bumping against the leaves above him. Anders could not feel the the ground, dirty or leaves beneath him. The surface on which he lay was solid - hard rock. His hands were at his sides; his fingertips told him the flatness was created, not naturally textured. No oddities, no imperfections, polished. 

So tired. Where was he? Not in the clinic, obviously; the smell of the place was mixed. Rock, dust, green and growing plant life.

Much nicer, Anders thought, than the undertone of Darktown and the former sewers of the Tevinter city that had preceded Kirkwall. That smell had an underlying taste of septic, the effluvia of packed people in a space never intended for habitation.

Sound all around him. Light bird song. Not deafening; low voices somewhere to the right, hushed but urgent. Scrape of movement next to him. Should he sit up? Should he just turn his head and hope not to be noticed? The burnt metal smell of lyrium was present, but then that might not mean templars. Not that the indication of a mage presence was safer. No, there wasn't any feeling of menace, and Anders had a well developed sense of danger. So. Best to sit up instead of pretending, trying to look unconscious.

Oh, he ached. A wash of black crossed his vision from sitting up too quickly. 

“Anders!” A hand on his arm to steady him. Hawke, concern in her eyes writ large. Anders’s eyes flickered over her beautiful, loved visage.

“What?” Anders breathed, then asked, “Where are we? What is going on?”

“You don’t remember?” Hawke’s warm contralto was calm. “Not anything?”

So...not a dangerous situation and he was obviously not damaged.

Oh. “Justice? Did it work? Is Justice all right?” Anders looked for the spirit inside his head, but found no sense of his friend.

“Justice is fine, Anders. I spoke to him in the Fade while you were out.” Relief washed through the mage as he slid from his perch. Hawke went on, “When we split you, Vengeance was split off as well, and is in the Fade rocketing around where Justice can’t get at him. So...that’s good. Right? Vengeance separated from Justice!” It sounded as though Hawke was trying to convince Anders of this.

“Well, Blondie?” A slap on his back knocked him forward as he stood by what looked to be a limestone altar. “Looks like some interesting times.” Varric totally ignored Hawke’s twitching, grimacing face.

“Why?” Anders felt dread settle over his shoulder like a heavy feathered cloak.

“Well, your twin over there,” Varric went on, the wicked twinkle in his eyes clearly showing that he was ignoring Hawke’s frantically urgent eyebrows.

Anders heard Hawke’s “I am going to _kill_ you, Varric!” and looked over to the others in what now proved to be a clearing in a wood.

Sebastian stood off to the side watching the proceedings. Aveline was at a trailhead scanning for trouble, solid in her armor, shield and sword. Check. No sign of Carver. Good. No other Grey Wardens, either. Very Good.

Fenris was backed up against a tree and looking startled and angry, his brands lighting up as Anders watched. The man who had the elf trapped was about Anders’s height, blond hair skinned back into a long tail of red gold, a gold ring flashing in the man’s ear. He was wearing Circle robes. Those robes looked familiar. Kinloch Hold, Anders realized. Was this someone he knew? Was that why Varric had called him a twin? _Maker, don’t let it be Finn_ , Anders thought. What color was Finn’s hair? This whole place would set Finn off. Too much outdoors.

Fenris snarled and raised his glowing fist, and Anders, by force of habit, cast a shield over the blond man. If someone was not a threat, and only Fenris was treating him as such, best to contain the issue and give the elf time to calm down. Hawke and Varric immediately started running toward the group, as Fenris - trails of blue-white light twining up his body - discovered the shield barrier and dragged his Mercy Blade from the scabbard on his back. Anders followed them in a mad dash across the clearing.

Obviously a mage had gotten on Fenris’s bad side - not difficult to do. Perhaps he was evil - a blood magic practitioner - and they should let Fenris crush his heart, but Hawke seemed to want the stranger alive, so best to be careful.

Anders rocked to a stop by the blond mage, looking quickly to where Fenris was not slaughtering anyone. Yet. Turning back, he found the mage had turned to face him and Anders saw the straight blond hair, soft brown eyes, and a cheeky grin of recognition aimed in his direction. He was looking at himself. His own eyes.

“Andraste’s knickerweasels!” and “Andraste’s flaming tongue!” came from their mouths at the same moment.


	2. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116, my beta!

Fenris sounded frothing next to them, but to Anders it was as if from a distance. He heard himself asking, “Is Fenris all right?” while staring at himself, barely hearing the assent.

Anders had little trouble dragging the Other a short distance away for a quiet “chat”. The Other was staring at him in fascination.

“Please do not taunt the elf,” Anders said dryly. “He is -” a pause “- a friend. But not that _kind_ of friend.” This was said loud enough for all of them to hear, and Anders ignored the elven warrior’s growl of protest.

The older mage was staring at the newcomer again. _I refuse to be called “old Anders”_ was the first thought through his mind as he took in the fresh face, unlined. This man was only a decade younger, but Anders knew how different he looked. For one thing, Anders was now at least fifty pounds lighter. 

“So, you’re me, but older?” the cocky young bastard said. “You look like you were ridden hard and put away wet.” 

“Not hard enough, and not for a very long time.” Anders felt like sticking his tongue out at himself. Of course, he was sure this younger version would have some snappy comeback. Anders really did not want to hear how lame the comment actually would be. “What did you say to Fenris to get him frothing?”

“I asked him if he was interested in meeting me later for a nice long session of ‘getting to know each other’. Do you two have a history?”

“You tried to pull Fenris?” Anders was uncertain whether or not to laugh. He looked over to where the elf, Hawke, Varric, and now Merrill were all standing and also staring at him and his younger counterpart. Turning back, he could only say, “You are getting me in a good deal of trouble, young man!”

Oh, Maker. His doppelganger was giving Anders the same expression of saucy distaste that Anders had given Wynne or Irving when they lectured him. “He’s watching your arse, Anders. Not mine, though.“ The reply came out affronted. “You are me. Why is he looking at you and not us both?”

Anders sighed. “Fenris is not looking at my arse. He completely and utterly despises everything I stand for. Well, except for my loyalty to Hawke. Now, if you want to put the moves on someone, take a look at Sebastian over there.”

“The Chantry Brother?” The younger mage’s eyes shifted to that figure and noted it approvingly. 

“Well,” Anders said confidingly, “he is not as innocent as he looks to be. Quite a past, our Sebastian has.”

With thoughtful eyes and a predatory smile, the other Anders then excused himself to move, stalking toward the Chantry Brother. 

Anders hurried to where the elf was sitting, now alone, cross-legged and with eyes narrowed in greeting. If it was a greeting. With Fenris it was hard to tell, as so often he looked unhappy and was just being thoughtful. Or Fenris. Anders did not touch Fenris, sitting on the ground by the crouching warrior, who resolutely looked off in another direction. “I was not -” the fighter gritted through clenched teeth.

Anders nodded. “- looking at my arse. I know. What _were_ you thinking about?”

Fenris’s sigh segued into, “He is…you are very much thinner than you were.”

Anders began to laugh in spite of himself. “Are you saying that I was fat?”

The serious look Fenris directed at the mage subdued him as the elf said evenly, “You do not look healthy, mage. I had not noticed it, but comparing you to…him, it is evident. Have you been starving yourself in Darktown?”

Anders made a noise of disagreement, almost a “pshah”. “Well, very little money. Hawke always does try to feed me, but… The lack of funding made it easier. Justice felt that excessive eating was a waste of time.”

That got a growl in response. “As if none of us knew that you give your money and food away without thought. How will you save your brethren and the dregs of Darktown if you die from malnutrition? And did you not tell us all that Grey Wardens require more food because of the taint?”

Now it was Anders who looked away. 

“I am...” Fenris was searching for words, “...relieved that -” Careful words in that voice too deep for the slight elven body “- the spirit - “ yes, that was safe “- has been returned safely to the Fade.” Anders snorted to show that Fenris’s tact was wasted, figuring correctly that the “safely” referred to Hawke and the rest of the companions, not Justice. A keen look from the white-haired elf preceded, “If I gave you a basket of food, fruit and bread, tell me honestly what you would do with it?”

“You’re thinking I would give it all away, aren’t you?” Anders did not deny it, not when there were so many needy people in the Undercity - children, elderly, pregnant women, injured.

Fenris looked toward Sebastian, standing in his pristine armor, guarded by Andraste’s face on the belt buckle, leaning forward as he earnestly spoke to the other Anders. “You are forgetting how well we all know each other.”

Anders’s gaze followed his, smirking at the desperate look his younger self was sending his way. “I suppose that I should rescue him,” Anders mused.

“Do you not mean ‘yourself’?” Fenris rarely smiled when Anders spoke, but he was doing so now.

Anders laughed, thought better of patting the warrior on the shoulder, then stood and made his way over to where Sebastian had draped an arm around the younger Anders’s shoulder. As he neared the two, the elder mage heard, “Prayer is a marvelous way to consolidate thoughts, my son. Let me help you to understand what plan the Maker has for you.”

Anders - he strove mightily not to think of himself as “older” - could see the twinkle in the Chantry brother’s eyes as a grin was aimed sideways, away from the younger mage. That mage‘s own stare to him was one of desperate pleading. Anders elected to rescue him. “Sebastian, may I borrow myself?”

“Most certainly, Anders! But feel free to bring him back if you have the need to.” Sebastian startled him with a wink.

“You bastard!” was the high pitched mutter as Anders guided himself away from any of the others. “No amount of pretty is worth that!”

“He was having you on,” elder Anders pointed out. “When he was your age, he was much like you.”

“No! I refuse to believe that I would possibly become like that Chantry git!” The gold earring flashed with the vehement shake of his younger, eerily familiar head.

“No.” Anders felt tired. “You ended up as me.”


	3. Internal discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116 for beta-reading!

Younger Anders stopped and faced him. “Alright. Explain. What is this? Why am I here?”

His older self swallowed and said simply, but accomplished with dry difficulty, “What have they told you so far?”

There was a weighing-up, on both sides. Anders knew what the Other saw. Tall, skinny rather than thin now, lines on the face, but the laugh lines that had always been tucked into the corner of the eyes that were looking at him weren’t as evident. His voice in the other man’s mouth sounded odd, distorted from what he heard from his own. More humor in the boy’s mouth as he said, “Not much. They were mostly waiting for you to wake up and tell me -“ the younger man ticked off on his fingers “- one. I have been pulled into the future as the result of a spell. Two. Not by blood magic, although the little Dalish has the marks of that particular school. Three. I did not hit on her. Mad experiences with Dalish mages, as well you may know. Four. She is looking for a way to send me back. Without blood magic.

“Not, I might add, for my sake as an innocent onlooker, but because they - every one of them - are bloody worried about you. Me. You.”

“No.” Anders shook his head. “That is not how Hawke does things. She will be as concerned for the innocent bystander as anyone else. No one here particularly cares for me. Most of them do not like me at all. But we will, every one of us, move Thedas and the Fade for Hawke.”

Narrowed eyes examined him. “Hmmm. Well, in any case, I look like the Void in the future. Not completely awful, but starved enough, and worried-looking, or is that tired? I’m still tainted, of course, but you don’t have the Blight sickness. So not ready for the Calling yet. What is going on?”

Maker, had he ever sounded so flip? A sigh huffed out, then Anders started his explanation. “After the Commander’s victory against the Darkspawn, there was a problem. Well, to be blunt, I took Justice into my body. Not in a fun way. Of course necrophilia is not our idea of fun in any case.” There was a shared facial expression of distaste, then, “We shared my body. Both minds, or spirits if you prefer.

“His powers saved me from templars, and we fled to Kirkwall.”

“In the Free Marches? It’s lousy with templars. Why would you flee templars by going to Kirkwall?” Then, “Oh. Karl.” The younger mage nodded in understanding.

“Yes.” The reply was short, saying nothing else.

There was silence as an unasked question and unwanted answer hung between them.

“So,” young Anders said eventually. “Willing abomination?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t work out so well?”

“No.”

“I don’t see any signs of it. Where is Justice now? Is he our spirit for the spirit healing?” Anders felt himself being analyzed.

He waved that off. “No, he is not. Not my healing spirit. Justice has been returned to the Fade. Safely. That was the purpose of the ritual. To separate us before we could damage each other further.”

At the expression of concern, Anders, feeling every year of his greater age, went on, “My anger changed him. We were hoping that returning him to the Fade would mitigate the effects of my humanity. I’ll know more when I get to speak with him later, but so far he seems to be himself. Any more questions?”

“You didn’t ask the Commander for help? Elissa would have been there for you.”

“Not possible at the time. She was gone.” Anders drew a hand across his face, thinking of the lines there that were absent from his counterpart. Foolish, but it hurt when thinking of the Commander, of Nathaniel and the rest of what had become family, gone now out of his grasp. 

Well, it was Anders that had gone. Turning attention back, that relatively unlined face drawled, “So we ran away?”

“Yes.”

The expression of concern returned with a sudden thought, stress. “Is the Commander okay?”

“ _Oh!_ Maker! Yes! Elissa is fine. Back at Vigil’s. Well, Vigil’s, and Denerim with the king. Hawke’s brother, Carver, is a Grey Warden, so we get news. And Nathaniel was recently in Kirkwall. They’re all fine. Oghren, Nathaniel, Sigrun, Velanna, everyone.“ His tone was reassuring and sincere, though the thought passed quickly through that there was a singularly significant amount of Warden activity for a city with no Warden outpost.

An unsurprisingly familiar sigh of relief. The elder Anders found himself under scrutiny again; this time it was very thorough and not particularly comfortable to be on the receiving end. Oh. Anders recognized the cocked head, the inviting crooked smile, the wide warm brown eyes. He was more used to giving than receiving those. Surely he had not just received the once-over from his younger self? 

Maker, he could not call himself Anders, old or young. Too confusing. Dredging up a name he had not heard spoken since being dragged to the circle, Anders hazarded, “Eyvindur?” Kirkwall’s Anders could hear the shyness in that single name.

“Don’t. Just don’t. No one calls me that anymore.” The Other’s jaw had gone rigid.

The elder one ducked his head. “Perhaps it is time someone did. We miss it. I know that.”

“We miss Mamma. There is a difference.” The answer was blunt and sad; that would always be an issue. The younger version had not the exposure and experience to step away from the memories, not even partially.

“ _And Fader?_ ” Anders had to do it. This was quite possibly the only chance he would have to be honest on this subject.

“Can go to the Void and rot there.” His younger self was not sad now, instead angry and pugnacious. “For all I know he is already there. Maker keep him where he can’t harm anyone else.” A hand rose to trace his own jaw, a remembrance of what had passed.

“We miss him too, Eyvindur. He was afraid. Magic was never something he had planned for. Losing the barn, the grain for the winter, the equipment - he didn’t understand how to take care of us. Calling the templars was the only thing he knew to do.” Anders was a healer, and this was something they both needed.

There was a golden glare from those, Anders had to admit, beautiful eyes. “How can you make excuses for him, Eyvindur?” The name was not gentle or pleasant as the young mage threw it on the end in anger. “When Fader beat me, locked me in the cowshed for days to wait for the templars? When he hit Mamma?“

Anders held the gaze, feeling all those years between them. “Not excuses. Understanding. I look to understand my enemy, which is ignorance. Justice could not handle my anger, Eyvindur. It changed him into Vengeance, polluted that pure spirit and made him a monster. We were...” The older man closed his eyes now, as he said slowly, “...going to hurt people. Death and destruction were what Vengeance craved, and not necessarily for actual wrongs. Simply perceived slights would set him off. Hawke stopped me. Helped me seek out the ritual to separate us. Otherwise I would have been a true abomination, reveling in death.

“This is truly why Fenris will never have anything to do with either of us. He sees us as weak because we have broken the primary rule for mages. Do not bring the spirits out of the Fade. Do not submit to them, for they have no knowledge and understanding of humanity. Or at least, if we don’t bring them out, do not let them remain here, on Thedas and away from the Fade.”

“Your anger?” That question was considering.

“Yes.” What was it about admitting it to himself that roiled his stomach?

“Never thought of myself as an angry man, that much.” The younger one was flip again.

“Yes.” Anders didn’t feel anger at the moment - a well of emotional exhaustion, perhaps. “Well, we were locked for a year in solitary. Beaten. Other punishments. Difficult not to be angry.”

Anders’s eyes were fixed on the expression of pain as his younger self closed his eyes against the memories, as always shoving them back into containment. “I am uncertain how to get rid of the pain, or the memories. But there are worse things than remembered pain.”

“Tranquility,” breathed Eyvindur. “Keili used to beg for it.”

“Keili was diseased,” Anders snapped, “and brainwashed by the Chantry.”

That brought a laugh. “And you were never...?”

“No. I...” Anders felt panic rising at thoughts of Karl, of pushing the knife through his ribs, of holding the body as it slumped against him. “I have never been tempted by Tranquility.”


	4. Tranquil Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders must help his younger self to understand about Karl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116 for beta-ing.

“Tranquility might not have helped with Justice,” Anders continued, speaking his thought without considering the consequences.

Eyvindur was sharp. “What do you mean by that? Helped how?”

Anders’s attention snapped back to the Other. “Eyvindur, it was not working. I was damaging Justice. Hurting him. Tranquility before he took on my body, perhaps that would have worked, but would also have defeated the purpose. Tranquility would have prevented him from being tainted by my anger. No emotions, no anger. But it would also have been impossible. Rape even. The Tranquil cannot give consent.

“Justice was not meant to experience feelings. It was hard enough for him when he was in Kristoff’s body. Kristoff was dead, the only emotions left were fragments. Memories of his wife. Nothing compared to what you and I feel. Sex, well, that was out of the question. Justice had some idea from Kristoff that a man and woman should be in love and married.”

Eyvindur stared. “How long was Justice a part of you?”

Anders sighed. “A decade.”

Eyvindur asked, eyes wide, “Tell me that you were not celibate for a decade?”

Anders’s brown eyes rolled. “Yeah, because you want me to lie to you. Justice didn’t even believe in masturbation. And no relationships, because it was too dangerous to let anyone know about being an abomination and all.”

The younger mage choked, “You have been celibate longer than I spent engaging in sex. That’s pitiful.”

“Thank you so much,” Anders growled. “That is clearly something that I need to be reminded of.”

Eyvindur cocked an eyebrow. “And you never made a pass at any of _that_.” His hand waved in a broad gesture incorporating everyone else in the clearing.

Anders glanced at his companions for the last decade, gaze lingering on Hawke, on Fenris, and coming back to his younger self. “No. No, I didn’t.”

Eyvindur grinned. “But you wanted to.”

Anders rolled his eyes again. “So...Kirkwall is full of templars.” It was a simple statement, but he hoped it would get himself off the sex track.

“What is the Circle like there? Like Kinloch? Full of disapproving Templars and willing mages?” Eyvindur’s smirk and sarcastic tone made it obvious that he hadn’t been thrown off.

Anders didn’t bother to hide his relief. “The Gallows. Nasty as the name suggests. Run by a psychopathic Knight-Commander, Meredith Stannard, and her second, Cullen Rutherford, the Knight-Captain.”

“Cullen? Cullen from Kinloch?” Eyvindur squeaked. “Cullen’s here?”

Anders looked himself up and down. “Yes?” It was uncertain.

“So, he -” the squeak adjusted itself downward “- looks alright, does he?”

“He looks like Cullen, but older. Short wavy, sandy hair, intense gaze.” Oh, that was getting a reaction. “Total attention to his duty.” 

That brought a snort. “If his duty had been Amell. He was crazy for Surana. Only had eyes for that one daydream.”

“Never touched her,” Anders commented wryly. “Never touched any of us. Still hasn’t. Nor visited the Rose. Hawke thinks he’s still a virgin.”

Eyvindur was intensely interested in the ground. “What makes her say that?”

That brought a laugh. Really, he’d had no idea he’d been so obsessed, though now he was remembering it, more of a schoolboy crush from when Cullen had first arrived. “Because he blushes when he has to interview the tarts at the Rose.”

“Brothel?” Eyvindur’s eyes were back on his own, eyebrows raised.

“Very upscale, at least compared to the Pearl and some other places we’ve visited,” he was assured.

Eyvindur giggled. “And a Knight-Captain of the Order of the Templars was there, interviewing the prostitutes? What about? The electricity trick?”

“Well -” Anders was struck by a sudden thought “- I am thinking that it might not be a good idea to be telling you all of this. You might not remember it when you go back, but what if you do? You’ll make changes in events. Possibly say things that need to remain secret.”

“Like how you’re avoiding telling me about Karl? He’s in the Gallows, isn’t he?” Eyvindur was sober.

How should he say this? No way to pretty it up. Anders shook his head. “Karl is dead.”

“How?” Eyvindur’s demand was harsh.

“They made him Tranquil. For ‘rebellion’, they said. He begged me to kill him. I did.” He had trouble breathing, but he got those words out.

“Maker!” It was a cry of pain, and then Anders the healer found himself with an armful of weeping young mage.

And then Anders could feel the tears spilling out and down on his own face.

“Anders?” It was Hawke, filled with concern.

Anders mouthed “Karl” at her, patting the back of the figure in his arms. Hawke nodded and gave him his own pat on the back before extending privacy once again.

They wept together for a time, winding down eventually after the initial storm of tears. “He asked you?” Eyvindur’s question was broken, stuttering, “H-How could he ask? The Tranquil can’t wish for anything.”

Anders let out a sigh to gain control. “Justice manifested, and it gave Karl a moment of clarity, of emotion. It could not be sustained.”

“You are certain?” Eyvindur gulped for air.

“Yes. Karl said he would rather be dead than return back to Tranquility. Then the light died in his eyes, and he could no longer understand why I was looking at him ‘that way’.” Anders’s voice was wavering.

“I loved him.” It was spoken in chorus, received as such.


	5. Complication

Anders, eyes closed, relaxed into the luxury of being held. The cloud of tears had passed and the heavy sobbing breaths from them both were calming. Arms around his younger self, the familiar slide of Circle robes under his fingers, Anders allowed a disorienting moment of deja vu take hold, memory of his time at Kinloch Hold, perhaps. The steady breathing of the figure in his arms was soothing, the blond hair lighter and longer than his own, but equally prone to escape from its leather tie, the scent of hair and skin, clean and male and unperfumed.

What would the Other be reading from him? Trousers instead of robes, slightly baggy under a fresh but fraying tunic. The feathered cloak was over with Hawke, the Tevinter amulet inside Anders tunic to prevent discovery. The older Mage’s hair had grey threaded among the blonde, not so easy to find with the light-colored hair. Anders’ soap had been gifted to him by a grateful Fereldan family who had managed the move up to Lowtown, a light citrus scent to it, warring with the ever present odor of Elfroot that stained roughened skin from constant potion making.

A robed leg moved against him, brushing lightly at first against the beginnings of an ache between Anders’ legs, then returning to steadily and purposefully rub. Anders could feel heat and hardness on his counterpart as well. Anders found himself holding onto a breath as the blond mage before him leaned up and spoke intimately, breathily, into Anders’ ear, “So, my older self,” a tongue tip slipped out to slide along the bottom lip and disappear back into the mouth that asked, “How good are you? Really?”

Warmth, not all from the other’s body heat, and Anders’ thoughts blinked, and the flush grew, warming the skin from his face... well, on down to much less active areas that were now hard as a Chantryman’s heart. “Very good,” Anders leaned, just slightly to change his posture, infusing body language with suggestion, “as you well know,” that came out suitably throaty.

Now the flush was obvious on both. “We are stuck here for a significant while, yes?”

Andraste, he was going to be propositioned by himself. “Why yes, I believe so,” no less seductive a tone, deeper and full of possibilities.

Two glances raked over the clearing behind them, Fenris and Sebastian speaking quietly over there, Hawke and Varric and Aveline over by the head of the path out, Merrill alone and in meditation by the Altar. How to obtain some privacy? Younger Anders was opening his mouth. That was no good. Time to cut himself off.

He took a step away from Eyvindur. “Right. Anders and I are going to be in the woods getting to know each other. Do give us some privacy?” Anders voice rang out lightly but audibly across the cleared space, effectively shutting the younger Mage up and embarrassing him at the same time.

Reactions were interesting. Fenris rolled his eyes. Sebastian sighed loudly for effect and returned his attention back to the conversation with Fenris. Hawke laughed and Anders thought her expression was one of relief as she winked. Aveline grimaced. A snickering Varric whipped something across the clearing at him. A vial of oil smacked into the palm of the hand held up to receive it.

“Right. Let’s go,” Anders turned to find a shocked expression on the younger face, “What?”

“You told them right out?" the voice was no less shocked.

“Hawke’s with Varric, Aveline’s married - very, Sebastian’s Chantry and Fenris is with Isabela. They’re all perfectly happy for me to spend a little quality time with myself after ten years. With this group I am free to be honest. Mostly.”

“Free,” the Anders that still belonged to Vigil’s Keep was wistful. Shaking his head after a moment, “I knew an Isabela once. Firm and fully packed...” the younger mage started.

“Yes. Pirate. Liked the girl with the griffon tattoos...”

“Yes! The Lay Warden! From the Pearl,” and there was that grin again.

“Same Isabela. She’s with Fenris now,” Anders started off into the woods.

“Ooh,” he heard, “Does she still do threesomes? Or foursomes?” was offered after a thought. 

“Not going to happen,“ was there a hint of regret in that response? 

Ignore the thought of Anders and Fenris and Isabela and Anders sprawled on a bed doing lovely things to each other. Turning, he could see that his arse was definitely being looked at now. Not by Fenris, of course, but by himself. How long had it been since his body had received this kind of attention? How did he feel about that? Normally Justice would be telling Anders to behave, to focus on their mission, on the vision of all Mages being able to live in Freedom.

No sound. Quiet in his head. No guilt at the thought of casual sex. What had Justice called it? Carnal Indulgence, with capital letters. The look of fascination was warming as the Other reached out to draw fingers along his lower lip, then across the jawline before sliding behind his head and pulling Anders forward into a deep and experienced kiss.


	6. Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders gets busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116 for beta-reading!

Eyes closed, tongues exploring - did they look like bookends then, one side a little worse for wear? What books between them? Not Fenris - stop thinking of the bloody broody elf! Brought back to the business at hand by teeth in his lower lip, sucking, demanding.

Oh, the ache down below. One couldn’t just cum from kissing, could one?

Hands lifting his tunic, tugging it up, interfering for a moment with the kissing before the cloth was tossed aside into a bush and fingers were in his hair, pulling Anders back into a clinch. A brief thought at one of these moments was that Eyvindur did not taste like Anders. Or at least there was no lack of flavor, as though from one’s tongue in one’s own mouth. Lips and the inside of the young mage’s mouth and tongue were sweet and drawing Anders in. Those soft lips and that questing, clever tongue were now leaving Anders’s mouth as the long fingers holding and moving his head were now tilting it back, granting access, demanding submission from Anders’s throat.

Anders’s hands on the young circle mage’s hips, fingers sliding on silky cloth, jumped at the pinch of teeth on the skin below his ear, suckling, the press of a tongue. He was being marked. Moaning appreciatively, the teeth, the mouth, the hands, moved downward, slowly, taking time to taste and explore. Looking down, the mage could see a pathway, love bites guiding down to the edge of his trousers, and his younger self looked up, a tongue slipping under his waistband as a tease. The cloth was inched down, the ministrations continued slowly, as more skin was revealed. Teeth, another mark on his hip, and hands slipped across his arse, while a hot open mouth sucked at the cloth-covered crotch, at which Anders moaned again, loudly.

That brought a small laugh, and the trousers were yanked completely down, smoothly, without catching on the stiff cock underneath. Anders leaned, put his hand against a not particularly sturdy tree, and lifted feet in turn to step out of his clothing. Hot breath across the sensitive skin, entirely too enjoyable licks from the head down to the base, the slight scrape of teeth before being lipped up the side. Again that look up from under long blond lashes before Eyvindur slowly began to suck Anders in, slowly, steadily, and entirely. 

Those lips, tight around him. The push of his cock into that tight mouth, down again, and then slowly back up, teasing, and feeling entirely too much like fucking. “Ah!” And oh, the young man liked to hear that sound pulled from Anders. Pulling away, the bloody tease, he put a steadying hand to the base of Anders’s masculinity, and ran his tongue from the skin appearing out of his fist up to the tip, giving it a swirl around the tip, and a slight dip into the slit at the end. 

Eyvindur looked up with a smart-assed, too polite look of enquiry.

“This seems vaguely incestuous to me,” Anders gasped. 

“Incest?” snorted Eyvindur. “More like masturbation, to my mind. And you never had a problem with that now, have you?”

Well, Anders did not know what to say to that.

Cocky young Anders looked up at him. “What?” Eyvindur demanded. “Are you telling me you don’t take care of yourself even if you’re celibate? Not at all?” That last was spoken with utter derision.

Anders tried not to whine or seem defensive. “Justice felt uncomfortable with it.“

The young blond blinked up at him

“Bugger,” he said.

“Can we put the discussion on hold for now?” Anders pleaded. “Less talk, more mouth?”

The bright grin he received just before Eyvindur slowly and so enjoyably took Anders back into the hot wet mouth surprised him. Then Eyvndur’s clever tongue wiped any actual thought away. “Maker weeps,” Anders moaned.


	7. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex, a discussion, more sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116 for beta-reading, and thus allowing me to update this corrected version.

The build from there was slow. It was almost a torment, but when it came, when _he_ came, Anders had no thought beyond the pleasure and all that centered on that one all-important but neglected part of his body. He had managed to gasp a warning, but Eyvindur didn’t stop, he’d swallowed, and kept swallowing until Anders had collapsed onto the ground in front of him. 

For a time, the only thing that the mage could think of was that his toes were curling. He could feel them, uncontrollably. And then, he could feel the sticks and detritus poking up into his bare skin. Sight, other than the pale green of the woods, came back to him - or perhaps he was now able to control his vision - and he tracked to the grinning young face in front, a fully-clothed figure with his hand gently riding his own crotch. “Good?” The cocky young bastard was pleased with himself.

Anders thought he surely should be. “Amazing,” he grinned back. “Give me a moment to catch my breath, and then it’s your turn.”

Eyvindur nodded; it was what he’d expected of himself, after all. Anders breathed, his skin shivering, muscles twitching, softening cock feeling cold and wet in the slight breeze. He blinked. He was wearing only his boots; those were buckled multiple times, the leather went calf-high, and how had they gotten the trousers off over them?

Was it important? He was smiling, relaxed and unreservedly. How long had it been since he’d done that? Had he ever? The Other was still watching him, so it was not difficult to catch his eye. “Now, what would you like?”

The cheeky grin was back. “I want a blowjob up against a tree. Quick, as though we were in the circle and Greagoir might show up around the corner at any moment. Think you can manage?”

“More than,” snorted Anders, as he stood and dusted the twigs and pieces of dried brown leaf from his backside. Looking over, he remarked, “I feel underdressed.” With a smirk, then a stalk toward his “guest”, he went on, “Greagoir, huh? What was it he used to call it, ‘fraternization’?”

Eyvindur sneered. “Yes, fraternization. I always thought he and Wynne had something going on.” He smiled as Anders ran fingers over his shoulders and down robed sides.

Anders nodded absently, looking for a decent upright surface. “Greagoir, Wynne, and Irving.” Ah, there was a sturdy trunk with no poisonous triple-leafed vine twining up and around.

Looking back at Eyvindur, the young mage was smiling in approval. “No rashvine around here, is there?”

Anders stood, hands on hips and not looking the least bit shy of his aggressively naked stance, and laughed. “No, and we will never forget to look for that again, will we?”

Eyvindur started to shudder at the memory, and Anders grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him into a kiss that illustrated a decade of sexual frustration. Breathless, Eyvindur was thrown against the tree trunk, his robes hitched up to those slender hips, and Anders was on his knees before him, mouth swallowing down hard warm flesh. Eyvindur did not moan, more like a gasp for breath, his body rigid with surprise, then he relaxed against the smooth bark of the tree, holding on with arms twisted around it behind him . 

Eyvindur’s eyes rolled up into his head at the mouth sliding down to take him in whole, the suction tight on him as Anders pulled back off more slowly, the clever tongue moving, touching, pressing against and along his decidedly happy cock. Hands, long, slender fingers holding, caressing, circling, entered into play. “Yes, please!” became “Oh! Andraste! Andraste and the Maker!” and a joyful ringing scream of pleasure as orgasm washed through him.

Anders pulled off slowly with a suck and a lick. It was difficult not to grin up at the man before him, breath ragged and skin flushed from his face down the body and past his groin to thighs lightly coated with blond hair. “Good?” His expression showed no more than polite interest.

“Oh! Oh yeah,” Eyvindur panted. “No wonder we were popular.”

Anders snorted at that, stood and dusted off his knees while looking for some place to sit. A great rounded slab of granite broke the brush-and-dried-leaf surface. In the lee, a patch of soft and velvet moss looked promising. Snatching up bits and pieces of clothing, he made his way to the greenery and sat, patting the moss beside him for Eyvindur and then leaning his bare back against the lichen-strewn granite, taking a deep breath of clean woodsy air.

Eyvindur pushed off the tree trunk and joined him, skinning off his robes and placing them carefully to the side, all the better to access them in case of necessary flight. He leaned against the rock, and deliberately against himself, or Anders, as well. The man’s body felt hot against him, the air full of the smell of sex and semen. “This feels so blighted _free! _” he said finally.__

__Anders laughed shortly. “Well, as free as anyone ever gets. Freedom is a bit of an illusion, actually. I guess we’re free to choose to take on responsibility and all, but then does that responsibility enslave us?”_ _

__Eyvindur was trying to look at him from the corner of his eye without turning his head. “Didn’t your friends just free you from possession? Aren’t you able to go off now, anywhere you like? With them? Without them? Escape! Explore!”_ _

__“I suppose so,” Anders said tiredly. “But I have patients in the clinic that I really should check on before running off. And it does take money to run about exploring. If I were still with the Grey Wardens they’d be supplying that. Right now I earn money by working for Hawke.”_ _

__“So, you’re what, with Hawke? Hawke’s Healer?” The young mage leant forward and picked up a dry and brittle stick rattling in an oversized coat of loose, grey bark._ _

__Anders watched as Eyvindur began to break the stick into small bits, then nodded. “I heal, blow up blood mages, give my expertise when we go down into the Deep Roads. I haven’t been taken by the templars yet because the people of Darktown hide me. And Hawke protects us, me, Merrill, herself. She’s a special case. Sort of like Elissa, you know. A True Hero.”_ _

__Eyvindur was thoughtful. “You don’t include yourself in that, then? You’re not a hero?” For each bit of stick broken off, he flipped the piece off into the woods._ _

__Shaking his head, Anders discovered that his hair was everywhere. He gathered it up into a tail and looked for something to tie it back with. “No. Not a hero. Not a leader. Not any kind of a good person at all. As you well know.”_ _

__“Anders, whose idea was it to run a free clinic?” Eyvindur’s voice was still thoughtful, not raised or joking._ _

__There was a sigh. “The Clinic wasn’t started so much as it just sort of became. I was hiding out in Darktown, and the Fereldans were the most organized of the refugees. Lirene, who is the force of nature organizing them, noticed that some of the children were healed miraculously of cuts and sickness. I was not able to refuse them and even though they did their best to lie, she found them out. Lirene came looking for me. Lirene was the leader. She coerced me. Sent people to me. Knowing I would not turn them away. Justice was annoyed to begin with. He said that they, these wretched people, took time from our real mission here. That this had nothing to do with freeing the mages or releasing Karl. Then the ‘injustice’ of it all took hold of him, and when Lirene found me a space, and supplies, I had no way to refuse.”_ _

__“No. It is a very simple word, Anders.” Eyvindur, as Anders recalled, had never been able to say it either, at least not where healing was concerned. There was just something about the aspect of being able to help people on such an intimate level that made refusal difficult._ _

__The woods were not silent. Things moved around in the crackling undergrowth. Birds sang overhead. Finally Anders said, “Doing the least we can do is not heroism.”_ _

__“Alright. Then tell me about the pretty elf? Well, you have two, but blood mage, not so attractive. What about the male with the silver _vallaslin?_ ” Eyvindur felt entirely natural sitting against him, but he could certainly feel Anders stiffen. “He just plays with Isabela?”_ _

__Something cracked out in the woods nearby, something loud and sharp. Both mages looked in that direction, but saw nothing, just a largish flowering bush and a patch of shadow. A squirrel chattered at them from overhead. “Yes,” Anders said reluctantly. “He’s broken, Eyvindur. Think worst sort of templar with blood magic, torture, and a nasty grey beard. In addition to that, I had to fight Justice for him.”_ _

__“What does that mean?” Eyvindur ran his right hand over Anders’ left arm, then rolled over onto his side to huddle against the older mage._ _

__“The _vallaslin_ are not tattoos. They’re lyrium.” He nodded at Eyvindur’s small cry of recognition. “And much as Justice was a prude, he was desperately hot for Fenris. Wanted to lick him like a candy stick.”_ _

__A noise, sounding like a cry from a human throat, interrupted. Both heads, silent, turned in that direction, but the only human sound was occasional and from the clearing with the altar. It must have carried from there. Eyvindur rolled over Anders, lying on Anders’s opposite side, and running a hand along the other arm. “You could have just stayed on top.” Anders gave him a smile._ _

__“Want to be able to see. Whatever is making that noise.” Eyvindur bit gently at Anders’ shoulder._ _

__“Be grateful for the noise from that clearing,” Anders laughed. “It means that we can relax. If we were out here alone we’d have to set a watch, and wouldn’t be able to lie here naked.”_ _

__“Hmmm.” The younger mage bit down on Anders again, leaving a mark. “So, Anders -” the tip of his tongue flicked out to circle it “- you want them both, Hawke and Fenris. Hawke doesn’t want you at all. She didn’t bat an eye when I made a pass at her.”_ _

__“You made a pass at Hawke?” Anders’s voice cracked._ _

__Eyvindur laughed. “Of course I did. Before you woke up.”_ _

__“So why do you keep bringing up Fenris?” Anders puzzled that through._ _

__“Because Fenris is the one who reacted to me.” His young face was smug now, hand doing rather delightful things as Anders showed evidence of recovery. “And look at how you’re reacting to this discussion.”_ _

__“Eyvindur,” Anders lectured breathlessly, since Eyvindur showed no sign of stopping his talented hand, “Fenris told you ‘no’. No means no. He tried to kill you.”_ _

__The young blond’s hand left the velvet skin and began to trace scars with a long finger. “What if he told you yes? Imagine what that would be like, all that lean muscle, that mouth calling your name?”_ _

__Anders pulled away and sat up, tailor-fashion. “I am a mage. Fenris loathes mages. Ain’t going to happen. And now, I would really like for us to consummate this relationship without bringing the blighted elf into it.”_ _


	8. Application

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovery and understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my Beta-reader, Lunamoth116!

Eyvindur crawled up to straddle the older mage’s legs, rubbing against a healthy erection considering their activity not so very long ago. His own had not yet begun to recover. Hands started on Anders’s forearm and slowly trailed upward, thumbs sliding across pulse points, grazing the soft skin beneath. Anders’s loud breathing became a moan and the long fingers danced over his shoulders, explored up the long neck and took control of the back of Anders’s head, pulling his mouth forward in and down to a kiss. 

Anders’s own hands began to move, cupping the arse that surprised him with its firmness. Wandering upward, fingernails slightly scratching across whip weals and scars to the top of Eyvindur’s spine before gliding back down, one hand curving around the man in his lap to scootch him forward, the other scrabbling about in the moss by his hip for the small vial of oil that Varric had tossed. Even with the years passed between encounters, he still managed to pull the cap, coat his fingers, and then reseat the cork-bottomed top into the glass neck.

Anders smiled into the moaning, shuddering kiss that resulted from a finger skimming along the lovely cleft, pressing and playing with the entryway before pushing into it. The older mage pressed forward into tightness. The younger mage began to move, rubbing against Anders, then back to facilitate the entry, allowing Anders to enter him with a second finger, stretching him out, readying the younger man. It was easy to lose track, to forget that this was himself, and not just an enthusiastic and skilled man on his lap.

Rock-hard now, the healer pressed in with a third finger, feeling the stirring of Eyvindur’s growing erection as the boy ground against him, then back onto the encroaching hand. There was relative silence but for their own quiet vocalizations. Eyvindur was quieter, something that Anders had had to learn to leave behind. Noise meant detection in the Circle. At the very least the young man was not biting down on a hand to silence himself. 

Eyvindur’s left hand reached down for the bottle, pulling Anders sideways and down with him, then back to almost straightness against the rock. Oiling Anders up, it was an intense feeling, that tight grip, slick along his cock, before Eyvindur pulled away from Anders’s hand, up, lining them together, and then seating himself on that hard flesh. The groans of pleasure from both mingled breath, and then Eyvindur was taking the initiative to ride Anders. 

“Slow, please!” It was drawn out of the grey streaked blond mage, and made the younger man grin, and then grind down.

“How long do you want to wait?” whispered a private voice in his ear.

Anders blew out a laugh. “Not long. Don’t keep me on edge. Just...move slow, I like it better that way.”

The smirk on the face so close to his made him laugh again. “And you know it.”

Slow it was, slow and lovely and gradual. When Anders reached to stroke Eyvindur, the young mage took his hand, kissed it and returned it to around the back of his neck. “No, that’s for you, for after,” and Anders’s mind bloomed with the image of Eyvindur inside him.

No amount of slow could stop his orgasm after that, and he shouted, “Andraste’s flaming knees, Eyvindur!” as he exploded.

His other self gave him time to come down, to stop twitching, at least so much anyway, and then pulled slowly off. “My turn. Over, onto the rock,” Anders was instructed.

Dripping and sensitive, it did not take Eyvindur long to work him open; Anders’s eyes closed as he enjoyed the feeling of the granite on his chest and belly, a brush against the prostate, the long skilled fingers plying in and out. Then thick, pressure, bearing down, and Eyvindur was inside him, adjusting the angle to hit his mark with each thrust. “It’s too bad,” the younger mage grunted, “that we don’t really have time to add some sustained magic to this. Think of how long we could go.”

“Andraste! Oh, Maker, don’t stop what you’re doing.” Anders was feeling the beginning of a surge. “Oh, you’ll bring me again, don’t stop!”

“Anders,” it was gasped, “kiss me!”

Muscles pulled, twisting to bring his face around, and Eyvindur kissed hard, his hand slipping along heat and the mage pushed that spark through his body, the current echoing through the prostate with each thrust, just enough power to drive them both over. Anders screamed into his mouth, and Eyvindur echoed him, eyes rolling back. 

Two blond bodies collapsed onto the granite boulder, panting. The screams had echoed in their ears, or was that blood rushing? “Maker,” Eyvindur purred, limp and heavy on top of Anders, “I enjoyed that.”

Anders hummed, unwilling to move even to speak. Breathing calmed. A throat was cleared behind them.

Eyvindur pulled out, grabbing at the clothing he’d laid by. Anders opened an eye. “Yes, Varric?”

“Merrill says it won’t be until tomorrow. She can get Little Blondie back, but she has to gather some more ingredients first. Hawke’s treating us to the Inn down the highway, so do your own gathering and get dressed. We’ll head out as soon as Isabela gets back.” Varric’s amusement showed.

Anders’s head went up. “Isabela’s not back yet?”

That got a laugh. “Well, she _was_ back, but she and Fenris took off someplace. Knowing them both, it was for an extended bit of Getting to Know Each Other.” That was said with a wink. “Meanwhile, Hawke has requested your presence. Let’s go!”

The mages dressed. Varric made rude comments. Eyvindur offered to show him exactly what the “electricity trick” felt like. Anders rolled his eyes as Varric turned the young blond down humorously. Soon enough, the moss patch and granite boulder, the bushes and birds were left again in solitude.

“Well, sweetness,” Isabela’s voice broke the silence, “what did you think of that?”

A patch of shifting green and grey broke to reveal the pirate in a bit of brush, her arms around the dark and lyrium figure of Fenris, her hands busy. “I do not know what to think,” the elf said, hesitant, thoughtful.

“They’re very good,” Isabela purred into the upswept ear.

“The mage has been protecting me,” Fenris said slowly, “from the demon.”

Isabela laughed low. “The mage has a hard-on for you. Both of them do. Only one of them has acted on it, though. How noble and self-sacrificing of Anders. I never would have thought it of him. Isn’t it interesting what you find out when you watch your friends having sex?”

There was a growl from the _elvhen_. “Usually I find it stimulating, Isabela. Stop.” Her hand was removed from his crotch.

“I would say,” and her tongue licked up to the top of his ear, “that you certainly found this stimulating, considering the state of your cock.”

Fenris let out a groan. “Isabela. Better make use of it.”

The slim hand was withdrawn. “No, I don’t think so. I’m going back to rejoin the group. Perhaps I will renew my acquaintance with Young Anders. Why don’t you join us when you’re able to walk?”

Maddening. She had left him alone in the woods with dirty thoughts and an erection. It was some time before Fenris rejoined the others.


	9. Interruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116 for beta-reading!

When Fenris emerged from the undergrowth, having made his way around to an entirely different direction, he was scratched and irritated with Isabela, Anders and the whole world. Isabela had a slender brown arm linked with the blond monster, who was pouring honeyed words into her ears, his eyes drawn to the bodice of that tight white tunic. How was he even able to dredge up interest after the activity that he and Anders had participated...er...after all that fucking?

Varric watched Fenris’s arrival with glee. Fenris would have labeled it malicious if he had not known that fervor was simply for a good story. Fenris gave a small growl. Merrill was sorting leaves and sticks into a basket. Hawke and Sebastian had gone, but that was only to be expected. They were the most respectable of the lot and were probably negotiating rooms. Aveline was leaning against a tree, no doubt wishing to be home with her beloved guardsman. That left the abomination, walking toward him. Well, abomination no longer, since the spirit Justice was “safe” in the Fade, and the anger of Anders had been separated out. The demon was still there, waiting until a foolish mage came and offered a body up so conveniently for evil to occupy. How long before another demon talked its way into a place within the newly empty heart of Anders?

The mage was not close enough to touch him yet, but Fenris, looking at the thin form before him, hair once again bound back, remembered watching intimacy. It would be indelicate to breathe in the man’s scent, as though the mage smelt bad. In truth, the man often carried the odors of his work: potion ingredients, washed and bleached linens, the burnt metal of lyrium, essential oils such as peppermint or lavender. Now, though, their mage, one of theirs, would smell of the outsider, sweat and semen and male. 

Fenris looked to where Isabela held his arm, the outsider’s, her face invisible and she spoke low into his ear. The look of lust on the man’s face - how was he able to think of sex again after Anders had ripped that first orgasm out with his mouth and received the second buried inside Anders on that rock?

This - this was the real reason not to spy on the sexual practices of others. It was not the immorality of intrusion into privacy, not the theft of a personal piece of those preyed upon. The problem was facing the participant afterward, knowing of their predilections during the sexual act, their reactions to touch and stimulus, what made them _be_. Memory flashed of Hawke riding Varric’s lap in his suite at the Hanged Man, her face open for the dwarf in a way Fenris had never seen. Then Aveline pulling Donnic into a room in the Guards’ Quarters, then Carver and Merrill in a meadow bursting with small, fragrant blue flowers.

So much thought passing as the mage approached Fenris across the clearing. What did his face give away? 

“Fenris?” 

The _elvhen_ looked up into that taller concerned face.

“Why is your hair wet?” It was the first thing Fenris thought to ask.

Anders blushed. Fenris had seen him flushed with anger, righteous passion, humiliation, but never a full-seated blush from the throat through to the roots of that blond hair, currently darkened and wet. Fenris continued to look at the mage expectantly. “Washed,” Anders muttered. “Artesian spring over there.”

“We are going to spend the night at an inn. No doubt Hawke has already ordered us all hot baths. Why would you bathe in cold spring water rather than wait for the bath house?” Fenris asked this earnestly, knowing his face was deceptively innocent. “I, for one, am looking forward to a long soak in a hot bath.”

Anders gave a sour look, then held out his hand. “May I?” he asked, clearly expecting Fenris to say “no”.

Fenris nodded assent, relishing the look of startlement. The cool blue of healing energy trailed down his arms, closing rips in the skin, pushing out thorns, and Fenris closed his moss-green eyes and gave himself to the sensation of healing. It did not hurt. Fenris realized that although his brands lit up, acknowledging the magic running through his body, the feeling was not one of pain. The magic stopped, and when Fenris opened his eyes the mage looked confused. “Thank you.” Fenris was gravely courteous, enjoying the increase in the confusion.

The _elvhen_ wondered if this were how one developed a taste for practical jokes. 

The walk down the mountainside was odd. Anders could not put his finger upon it, but although Varric and his “Daisy” following close upon Aveline was normal, Isabela arm-in-arm with the young mage following behind was not. In usual circumstances Anders would be in the center, with the pirate and the ex-slave watching the rear. With Isabela there was every real possibility that she was watching everyone’s rear. 

Anders, walking behind, found himself jumping at every noise of the night, and it had gotten quite dark by the time they reached the bottom of the mountain. It did not help the mage’s self-respect that the elf began smirking, then openly laughing at him toward the end. “Mage,” the dark voice smirked as well, “are you expecting bandits?”

“Darkspawn, Dalish, Qunari, just about anything with this company,” Anders grumbled. 

“Afraid without your helpmeet?” It was not clear if Fenris was serious or sarcastic.

Anders stopped dead in the dark pathway. He had been so distracted, what with dealing with Eyvindur and Fenris’s strange behavior that the loss, or lack had been forgotten. Fenris looked back at him, waiting. Anders closed his eyes momentarily - in loneliness, grief? Shaking his head, the mage walked forward, picking up his pace and passing the _elvhen_ warrior, unspeaking. He did not wait for the fighter, and did not slow down until he had caught up with Varric and Merrill.

Nothing accosted them. It was a regular road, after all, between a series of inns, and fairly well kept. The hidden path up to the altar had been the only secret worth finding, other than the Deep Roads beneath them. Anders could feel no darkspawn. It did not make him feel any more secure. Not until they saw the lights of the Innstead did Anders breathe a sigh of relief.

Food! Mushrooms cooked in broth with barley beckoned from the table beside a warmed loaf of bread and a wooden dish of molded butter. Beets and carrots roasted in rings decorated a blue enameled bowl. Thick sliced nug in a bath of gravy made Anders swallow heavily, then sigh gratefully for the end to travel. “We eat first, yeah?” It came out before he thought it.

“Blondie! You took the words out of my mouth!” Varric pulled the waiting Hawke, already bathed and carrying a mug of ale, into a kiss. 

The table set aside for them was a long oval, and seated everyone, Hawke with Varric by her side and Merrill on the other. Aveline was between Merrill and Sebastian, who swapped wits with Isabela, managing to keep a sense of humor and avoid the traps she set for him with innuendo. On Isabela’s other side sat the young mage, who was uncharacteristically quiet, watching each in turn. Fenris sat next, talking across Anders to Varric, bringing the circle closed.

Anders was eating as though he was starved, drinking whatever was put in front of him. He showed a single-mindedness of purpose. Each mouthful, which he chewed thoroughly and carefully, was tasted with the freedom of an appetite he had not been allowed for ten years. Each sip of water, of ale or wine, was swallowed slowly, savoring the mixture of flavors.

Varric provided the ale, never obviously looking at the mage, and Fenris had poured the glass of red wine, placing it in Anders’s hand while leaning forward and continuing his conversation with the dwarf about the difference in seasonings. Asafoetida? What in the Maker’s name would that taste like? Anders found the thought, the entire discussion, surreal. 

After he had eaten all his nearly concave stomach could hold, Anders fell into a daze, listening to the conversations around him until the innkeeper announced that their baths were ready. Baths for all of them, wooden tubs this far from civilization, and set in two rooms. The larger of the rooms, over Isabela’s great protests, went to the males in the party - Varric, the two mages, and Fenris - while Merrill, Aveline and Isabela noisily shared the smaller room. After they’d looked out their clean clothing, soap, and other needs, Sebastian and Hawke carried the packs and weapons off to the rooms they’d share.

Anders drowsed in the hot water, listening to his younger self flirt outrageously with Sebastian and Varric. At the very least, Anders thought comfortably, Eyvindur was not bothering Fenris. Of course, he was telling stories that in all probability should not be shared. What did it matter? What did any of it matter?

Up the narrow wooden stairs after, to have a door shut in his face by Eyvindur, laughing Isabela on the bed behind him. “Well, mage,” came Fenris’ voice behind him, “it appears that we will be sharing a room.”


	10. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected (by Anders) smut. Yes, this is definitely smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta-reader, Lunamoth116!

Oh. Anders had seen Sebastian’s single room on the way upstairs, almost a cupboard at the end of the hallway. It had the advantage of having a narrow, cot-like bed and enough space on the floor beside for Sebastian to kneel in prayer. Having his own room also meant that the others were not awakened by the Chantry brother singing the offices of the Chant at odd hours. 

That left Fenris with only Anders as an alternate roommate, since Aveline shared with Merrill. “Yes, well...” Anders pushed the door open, and stood back for Fenris, whose glance stated that Anders was out of his mind. “Take your pick of whatever side of the bed you want,” Anders said. “Though as I recall, you like the side next to the edge.”

Sharing a bed with Fenris. He’d done it before, shared with Varric too, and Sebastian and Carver. However, that had been when he was celibate. Amazing how quickly one managed to fall off the wagon. Now he was thinking about exactly what he could do on the bed with Fenris. And thank you very much Eyvindur for sinking that hook into his mind. _Time to remember that not everything is about sex, Anders!_ he scolded himself internally.

The rooms were spare. A full-sized bed to the side of the room, hooks on the wall by the door, a rag rug in the space before the door and one before the tiny hearth, and a table on the side serving as nightstand. A pitcher and basin were in a rickety wooden holder in the corner; they probably matched the chamber pot under the bed. An oil lamp made of thick pressed glass sat lit on a crocheted square to protect the sturdy wooden table. A piecework quilt covered the bed, close enough in pattern to match the rug. Anders closed the door and leant his staff in the corner, turned, and almost ran into Fenris still standing in the center of the room, by the bed.

“Fenris?” The elf was watching him, but then, the elf was always watching Anders.

“You,” Fenris said slowly, “are attracted to me, and wish to have sex.”

Fenris watched Anders flinch, then turn an interesting shade of pale under his dirty blond scruff. “I would never...Fenris, you don’t need to worry about that...” the healer trailed off.

“It would be consensual. I am interested in having sex with you. I do have -” a pause to select the correct word “- stipulations, if you are willing.”

Anders’s jaw had dropped. “Fenris,” he managed at last, “I am not sure what, exactly, to say to that.”

There was a slight smile, a tight one, but not angry. “If you are willing, you say ‘yes, Fenris’. Then we discuss terms.”

Anders was afraid that his brain had shut down. There was so much flashing in and out too quickly for him to grasp each thought. Was that “No! Are you insane?” or “Thank you Andraste and the Maker!”? “I,” Anders found himself stammering, “w-was under the impression that you disapproved of me. Why would you want to have sex with me?”

The _elvhen_ warrior rubbed the top of one foot against the leggings on the back of the other leg. “A fair question, given our background. I suspect it is the answer to another question. Why would you be attracted to me with so much animosity between us?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Fenris, I would have to be a blind man not to see how beautiful you are. Obviously I would be attracted to your body. Your voice is -” Fenris looked startled at this, “- enough to make someone cum while you were threatening to eviscerate them, and you are without a doubt one of the most morally passionate men I know. How could I not be attracted to the package?”

Fenris took a step toward him. “And you, Anders, have a reputation for skill in bed, a pleasing form when it is not flashing blue, and you strive to do what you see as right in spite of the opinion of others. I do not feel that you would take advantage of me in this.”

“Oh.” Anders paused for thought. “What are the stipulations?” Then, continuing on without waiting for Fenris to answer: “Though I am certain I can guess. No magic.”

Fenris raised a hand up to just about touch Anders’s chest, stopping just short. “No magic. Unless I say so. You will do whatever I say, when I say it.”

“You want to top?” Anders didn’t look surprised.

“Yes, and no. Or rather, not as I understand it.” Fenris looked from his hand up along Anders’s throat, across his lips and up to those brown eyes. “I want you to follow orders. Can you do that? I want to be in control.”

“I -” Anders’s voice quavered “- can follow orders. I have stipulations of my own.” At Fenris’s nod, he went on, “No humiliation. No bondage. I will submit to constrain myself at your will, but -” a hard swallow “- I do not wish to be tied or blindfolded.”

“No binding?” Fenris was thoughtful. “I had thought...” and then a look up into Anders’ golden brown eyes. “Control includes your orgasms.”

“Oh!” There was a quirk at the corner of Anders’s mouth.” I have done that without a cock ring, Fenris. Or binding.”

Another nod, then Fenris said, “My safe word -” of course Fenris would have one, he was involved with Isabela “- is seagull.”

Anders was taken aback. “Seagull?”

A tiny lift of the corner of Fenris’s mouth revealed a flashing eye tooth. “I am hardly likely to say that during sex.”

“Well.” Anders threw up his hands. “It puts me to shame with ‘templar’! I feel so unimaginative!” 

Fenris laughed as he guided the taller man until he was backed against the bedside. “I am certain that you can prove your imagination in other ways.” He leaned forward to place a light kiss on Anders’s lips, sucking just slightly on the lower lip before pulling away and looking up at the man.

Anders sat down, and Fenris was now the taller. “As you like,” said the mage, and he leaned forward in an invitation to kiss. Fenris accepted the invitation by climbing onto Anders’s lap, straddling it, and pulling the mage into a clinch, one hand on either side of his face. Kissing Anders was enjoyable. There was yielding and invitation and a slightly hesitant exploration, giving Fenris the opportunity to dictate his wishes. There was the smell of tea, and herbs, and male in spite of the recent bath.

Fenris was tasting him. Anders was not being devoured, though consumed might be close. Tongue and lips touched and tested while Fenris breathed him in. Anders felt a hint of pique. Was he not the experienced one? And yet the elf was throwing him off, Anders’s head was spinning, and he did not think it was from the wine and ale.

The _elvhen_ inhaled along the front and top of Anders’s ear, long dark fingers removing the scrap of leather containing the soft blond hair. It cascaded down across Fenris’s face. Anders took his own slow, quiet breath. Fenris smelt of stone and flesh and metal, and spice mixed in with all three.

As Fenris pulled back Anders found himself following, leaning forward until Fenris stopped him with flattened palms on the mage’s chest. “Remove your clothing,” he was instructed.

It was not easy to strip with an elf perched on your lap, but Fenris rose to his knees, watching down as Anders loosened ties and dragged the tunic over his head. The blond lifted his hips and arse from the bed to slide smallclothes and trousers off and down over his knees. The leather boots - well, Anders never did remember how he got those off. 

“Now remove mine,” the deep voice instructed.

“Yes, Fenris,” Anders murmured, his clever fingers moving to unlace the tight black tunic before sliding it carefully off, hands following the cloth as it dragged up the body. The leggings were a good bit more involved, as he unthreaded and then peeled the leather off with minimal help from the elf.

And then there they were. Fenris still kneeling above Anders’s lap, Anders’s eyes fixed on his face waiting for the next direction. Anders was hard as a rock and standing at attention below and between Fenris’s legs. Fenris moved his hips slightly to rub his own hardness against the healer’s chest. Blond hair gleamed there, making a nest for the stiffness seeking friction. “Anders,” Fenris’ tone is a purr, “Light the room.”

There was light, from the oil lamp. Not much from the tiny fire on the hearth. Anders’s lips parted, Fenris’s lyrium flared, and the ceiling glowed the blue silver of stars. Reaching sideways, Fenris turned the lamp out beside them, and looked down at the mage in the silver light, those brown eyes looking hugely up at him. “Very good. What exactly can you do in bed with your magic?”

Anders swallowed. “I -” obviously Fenris was not talking about preventing conception or disease “- I can send magic through your skin, through your bones and flesh, making your nerves light up. It heightens the sensations of sex. I don’t know how it would affect your lyrium though.”

Fenris gave him a push backward onto the bed, and Anders allowed it. “Well, then, touch me with just your body first and we’ll see how that goes.” Fenris leaned forward, crouched over the mage, then lowered himself into the waiting arms.

Fenris found himself watching, copying the mage as he would have any other teacher. Anders’s hands upon him were not tentative, a knee moving to press and rub, lips whispering down Fenris’s neck, leaving sensation behind, but not marks. Anders’s small hums of satisfaction when Fenris touched him guided as much as the tiny movements as his body shifted, opening himself to more touch, better reach. When the build became too much, Fenris stopped Anders’s hand on him, took a deep breath and felt himself draw back from the precipice. “Where do you want this to go, Fenris?” Anders was breathless himself. “How do you want to come?”

“Inside you. I know that you know other ways of penetrating.” Fenris licked his lower lip. “Riding you, but not like an animal.”

Anders gave a small laugh. “Alright.” His hand was not entirely still. “I can lie on my back with my legs up, or we could lie together sideways like spoons, or you could sit against the headboard, and I could sit on your lap.”

“What -” Anders was not certain if Fenris was breathless or nervous “- are the advantages?”

Anders shifted. “Well, if I ride on your cock from on top there can be more penetration or less; I can be more in control of that. I don’t think that is what you’re looking for? No? Well, there’s also the increase in height difference. With me on my back we can see each other’s faces while we fuck. It’s very intimate. Not that either?”

“No,” Fenris said quietly. “Not right now.”

Oh, that was promising. “Sidewise, sideways, spooned - it’s a little bit less sensation, not as deep penetration, but there’s plenty of control. Intimacy, but not staring into each other’s eyes.”

“Show me how to prepare you.” Fenris ran a finger from Anders’ groin up along his chest and placed the flat of his hand on the nude body at his command.

This was where Varric’s nifty little vial of oil would come in. “Have you ever had to prepare yourself?” Anders asked carefully.

“I have never found it...pleasant. I would -” a pause, of course “- have you enjoy it. You seem to -” another pause “- not mind being penetrated?”

That was an interesting way to put it. “Fenris.” Now Anders’s voice was a purr, one Fenris could feel, body to body as they lay tangled. “I enjoy having a cock in my arse. I will enjoy having you take me, whichever way you decide. Sex is fun. If it isn’t, then you’re doing it wrong. We, you and I, will not be doing it wrong.”

There. Fenris had tensed, and then by force of will relaxed. “I would like to take you spooning, as you called it. I do not wish for you to cum when I do so. And then -” tension and again a deep breath before more and obvious relaxing “- I wish for you to take me.”

Anders blinked. “Fenris, are you certain?”

A nod. “Yes. This is what I want.”

“Are you aware that I can come more than once? I have - how should I put this - the stamina of a Grey Warden. Not even looking at the use of restorative spells. It is possible for me to go on at length, possibly all night if we desire.”

The look on Fenris’s face spoke volumes. “You didn’t know. Well -” Anders’ voice was a purr again “- Fenris, wouldn’t you like to make me cum while you’re inside of me? You could feel me orgasm around you, tight and willing as you spend inside me? All of this before we move on to the next stage, where I would take you in whatever manner you desire?”

Fenris gripped Anders’s wrist, stopping the gentle stroking movement. “You will bring me before we get anywhere near.”

A hum from the mage. “Please, Fenris, let me come with you inside me. Don’t make me wait.”

“You can do both?” Again, that uncertain tone, to which Anders hummed assent. “Very well, then, show me.”

The round pot was procured, and Anders oiled a finger. He held the pot out in invitation, and Fenris gingerly poked a digit in, then examined it morosely. Anders set the pot within reach. Leaning backward, long limbs splayed, Anders pulled Fenris over and slipped the tip of his tongue along the bottom lip, while he slid the slick finger up inside of himself. Fenris’s tongue mirrored, running along his own lip, sucking Anders’s lip into his mouth. A hand, not usually so clumsy, sought between the mage’s legs, the oily finger joining Anders’s as it pressed in and withdrew. As Fenris’s finger entered Anders, the mage gave an open moan into the fighter’s mouth.

Pulling back far enough to speak, Anders said quietly, “There’s a spot. Inside. You’ll know when you press it. It’s a pleasure spot.”

Fenris did not find it with the single finger, but with two coated in oil and a bit of exploration he found it. Anders writhed. “Yes!” Now that he knew where to find it, the _elvhen_ sought duplication. “Maker, yes, Fenris!”

Three fingers followed, and then Fenris shifted, snuggled against Anders’s back and pushing into the blond mage slowly, carefully. Fenris had no desire to tear, as he had been torn in the past. Tight, but not painfully so, and the pleasure as he held the mage’s hip and thrust! Taking an even firmer grip of the pale hip, that long leg pulled up to Anders’s chest for ease of access, Fenris tried to shift the angle, to hit that small spot he had touched before with fingers. Fenris knew he’d succeeded when Anders cried out his name, struggling against his hold to shove backwards, harder against Fenris’s erection. That threw Fenris off, and he exerted his strength to hold Anders where he wished him. 

Finding the movement and position, they settled into a rhythm, Fenris’s grunts of exertion in Anders’s ear, Anders’s quiet moans echoing in the small chamber. It was different. Different from what he had gone through before, as sex with Isabela was different from what Hadriana had done to him, or required him to do. This was an intimate partnership. It was growing more intense, and Anders gasped, “I’m getting close.”

“Not,” Fenris growled, “until I -” he thrust “- say so.” 

Anders’s long hand, that arm trapped under his body, frantically reached to the base of his erection, holding it in a tight circle, bringing him back from the brink. Fenris released his hold on Anders’s hip, running fingers up the straining shaft, feeling Anders’s hand in place. Uncertain as to how long he would be able to keep this up himself, Fenris felt his own climax jolt closer with Anders’s action. Slowing the rhythm, ensuring that each thrust slid past that point inside, Fenris dropped his voice a tone: “Anders, come for me.”

The _elvhen_ could feel Anders’s fingers release and remove, ran his own fingers lightly up the shaft before taking hold and stroking in time with the slow thrusts. A spasm ran through the mage’s body, and Fenris could feel the jerk and pulse of Anders cumming over his hand, and tight around his cock. It was a process, not a single explosion, and he held on through it as the mage came around him. Then there was no stopping as he buried himself, and began his own orgasm.


	11. Implications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushing Fenris' boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Lunamoth116 for beta-reading!

Anders lay sprawled half naked across the bed, his ear against the wall. “I can’t hear anything,” he complained.

Isabela laughed in disbelief, “Why are you listening to the wall?”

“I want to know if Anders is getting lucky,” it was a stage whisper.

“Anders,” Isabela bubbled, “Surely you trust yourself to seduce one Elf. You got him in there with Fenris, after all.”

The young mage gave a groan, “I’ve become so... hesitant. Ten years, ‘bela, with no sex!”

Isabela arched an eyebrow. “And you’re spending your time in this room lying on a bed listening to a wall?”

Anders sat up. “Oh! I beg your pardon, Isabela! Let me remedy that!”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” and the pirate tumbled on top of the mage and pushed him back down on the bed.

…

Anders slid over onto his back as Fenris pulled out of him. With a smile to Fenris he rolled off the bed and grabbed for the cloth hanging by the basin, wetting it, wringing it out, then bringing the filled basin with him. As the Elvhen sat up, watching him, Anders knelt and reached to run the wet rag up along the muscular thigh, cleaning the softening cock, attending to the man. “Anders,” he said uneasily.

“Voluntary,” Anders smiled, “Stand up, and let me take care of you.”

A semen covered hand was cleaned as well, and then Anders took care of himself. Looking sideways at the Elvhen, Anders said, ‘It bothered you, my kneeling in front of you?”

“Yes,” laconic as always.

“I don’t expect it of you. Or of anyone else, Fenris,” Anders grinned.

Fenris looked confused, “Why would you do it for anyone at all? It is subservient.”

Anders gave his head a shake, the blond hair loose, flying about, “It isn’t degrading when you choose to do it. Freely. Are you hungry?”

Fenris started to laugh, “You’re hungry already?”

“Well, I’m going down to use the jakes, and the Innkeeper promised to leave some food and drink in the buttery. Should I bring some back for you?”

“Going like that, are you?” Fenris indicated the tall naked body in front of him.

Anders rolled his eyes and grabbed on his tunic and trousers, leaving the boots unfastened. Looking up Fenris was lacing his leggings back on. “I will accompany you,” it was short and there was no reason to disagree.

The trip down the stairs took on the importance of one of Hawke’s stealth missions. They heard Aveline and Merrill talking quietly behind their door, Hawke and Varric giggling, and Sebastian singing the Chant softly. Washing again at the pump, then returning through the buttery allowed them to retrieve fruit, bread, and a flagon of wine. Anders was the louder of the pair. He normally was not as quiet as Fenris, but his loose boots prevented much stealth, and for some reason this set Fenris off laughing. “What?” Anders asked, only to watch the Elf double over with giggles.

Closing the door behind them both, he asked in exasperation, “What was that?”

“Anders,” Fenris leant against the wooden mantel, “your boots,” he was interrupted by a ferocious growl from the mage’s stomach and the laughter began anew.

Sighing, Anders stripped down, took the food, and sat cross legged, naked, on the bed cutting an apple into slices. “I didn’t hear any noise from next door,” he offered.

That caught Fenris’ attention, “Nor did I,” he said thoughtfully.

A piece of apple distracted him as it was slipped slowly through Anders’ parted lips. Fenris licked his own lips in reaction. Anders asked, “What about my younger self? Are you attracted to him?”

When Fenris looked away Anders said surprised, “You are. And you don’t like it. Why does that make you uncomfortable?”

The Elf growled, “I have the desire to stop his talking.”

Anders questioned him with raised eyebrows. Fenris said, “By shoving my cock down his throat. No offense meant.”

Now it was Anders laughing, "None taken." Fenris joined him on the bed, watching the mage laugh in a way he had never seen. It was good. Calming somewhat Anders offered the flagon to Fenris, then took a mouthful of wine himself before starting on the bread, smiling. “He is good at that,” Anders offered, and got a snort from Fenris who accepted a slice of apple. 

They ate companionably. It was more relaxed than they were used to. When Anders had eaten enough to stop his belly from grumbling he began to offer Fenris bits of food in creative ways, a slice of apple offered from between his teeth, a mouthful of wine from between parted lips.

Soon enough mouths and hands began exploring again, and even without the aid of Anders’ spells erections began to rise. “You still wish for me to take you?” Anders asked before running his tongue up along Fenris’ pointed ear.

The moan in reply brought a smile, “Yes. It will not be,” Fenris took a deep breath, “You will prepare me?”

Anders kissed him. It was soft and quick, and then, “lie back.”

Spreading Fenris legs, Anders knelt between them, and began to drag his tongue along the crease at his groin, traveling slowly back to the tight circle of muscle between the Elf’s buttocks. Fenris’ back arched on the bed, hands gripping the sheets as Anders dipped his tongue slightly inside, swirling around the sensitive skin. Licking and lapping, thrusting in further and further, the mage enjoyed the sort of magic that knowledge, experience, and the desire to bring pleasure could provide. It took time, but eventually Fenris’ voice broke out, calling Anders’ name, crying out to the Maker, and relaxing the muscle enough for Anders to slide a slick finger inside, pushing up into tightness, thrusting in and pulling back out again.

Fenris moaned as two fingers stroked for a time, then three pushed in, gliding across his prostate, his cock jerking and hard above Anders’ head. Anders had to clear his throat as he pulled back before saying, “Fenris, would you like to switch positions? I need to get on my back so that you can ride me.”

In the end they connected with Anders sitting up, his back against the headboard, and Fenris straddling his lap, taking Anders’ hard cock slowly in. Anders was moaning by the time that Fenris was fully seated, and resting his head on Anders’ chest to get used to the feeling of fullness. Then, with an expression of concentration he began to move, rising up on the shaft, then impaling himself anew, angling to brush Anders’ hardness against his prostate.

They found harmony, though neither of them would have called it that. The pace was slow, but not agonizing, merely set to concentrate on pleasure. A while into their intercourse the door quietly opened. Not quietly enough to be missed, both heads turned to look at the young blond mage closing the door and standing with his back to it. He looked oddly shy, and as young as he actually was. Anders gave a small laugh, and looked into Fenris’ eyes as the Elf turned to look at him, “Young Anders wants to play as well.”

They were slick with sweat and did not stop the slow steady movement as Fenris asked, “Is this what you wish?”  
“It is,” Anders sounded breathless, “entirely up to you. You are in control. But he certainly could put his mouth to good use.”

Eyvindur kept said mouth shut for once, doing his best not to look predatory, striving for submissive, and attaining only quietly cheeky. Fenris leaned his forehead, to be met by Anders’ sweated one, “Yes. How will we manage?”

This required shifting, Fenris turning with his back to Anders’ chest, renegotiating the angle required for Anders to reach the Elf’s prostate, his erection pointing up and away. Fenris’ legs were spread over Anders, both of them splayed. Eyvindur shimmied out of his robes and climbed onto the bed to join them, his hand gently stroking Fenris’ jaw, then ear, before crouching down and taking him in a skilled, hot mouth.

Fenris strove to keep quiet, to hold back, but that did not last. Anders and his young counterpart began to work together, each thrust and suck coinciding to bring about cries that filled the small room. The sounds grew until Anders groaned in Fenris’ ear, “Maker, Fenris, I don’t want to cum until you say, but I’m close! I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

Fenris relaxed, felt Anders fill him completely, felt the young Anders swallow him down just as completely, and fell over the edge into orgasm. He spilled down Anders throat, and clenched tight around Anders’ cock in his arse. “Anders,” he croaked, “cum!”

Two, three more thrusts, and the mage was buried deep, pulsing as the semen was expelled into Fenris. Still swallowing between breaths, Eyvindur stroked his hand over his own cock, bringing himself off surprisingly quickly.

Eyvindur played valet this time, before his older self and Fenris collapsed bonelessly into the bed. Eyvindur climbed in after, the two blond mages bracketing the elf, before dispelling the still glowing ceiling. The darkness held the steady breathing of them all as they fell asleep together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the Anders/Fenris/Anders sandwich.


	12. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There has to be a morning after. And thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Beta-reader Lunamoth116!

The room was dark and close and smelt of sex when Fenris woke next. He tensed. Two bodies wove limbs around him. It was unusual, but not necessarily uncomfortable, once the _elvhen_ fighter became aware enough to process the situation. He relaxed. Both of the Anders had clasped hands in the night, a connection that said much to Fenris’s way of thinking.

His body began to stir, a reaction, and that was not something Fenris wished to deal with this morning. He was lithe, and limber, and he was certainly able to manage to slip out from between the two men, perching silently at the foot of the bed to look back before catching up his clothing and slipping out the door. 

The inn was silent. Not frighteningly so, but with the quiet of pre-dawn, the silences of sleeping bodies behind closed doors. Fenris hauled his tunic over a tousled head and dragged his leggings on, cold and tight against his legs. Then, barefooted as always, he padded along the wooden hallway, down the narrow staircase, and out through the common room to breathe the cool air of the night. 

There was a bench by the door. There was always a bench by the door, be it Tevinter, Seheron, Antiva, Kirkwall. The _elvhen_ fighter sat on the worn wooden surface, leant his head back against the wall and let loose the flood of thoughts that had brought him awake before his time.

What carried him almost to the brink of outright laughter was that there was no hint of “Are you mad?” beyond the understanding that it would be the first thing he should have been asking. Fenris, former slave of Tevinter, had buggered a mage, who had then knelt before him and served him humbly. It was a heady memory.

Stretching, the elf cataloged the muscles sore from unaccustomed activity. He would have some pain, but with adequate stretching it would, perhaps, not be noticeable in his movements when they began the trek back up the mountainside. He would still feel it. The intensity of the pleasure he had received from Anders - from both of the Anders - lingered.

It was obvious to Fenris that the younger Anders had gotten his pleasure from sucking Fenris off. He had set them together in that room. Had the young mage known Fenris and Isabela had watched them? Or was he simply attempting to grant his older self the opportunity with Fenris that the brash young man had tried to seize before? Certainly the boy - though why should he class him a boy when he was only ten years younger than Anders? - had spent an enjoyable time with Isabela. Fenris had seen the claw marks down that pale naked back when it was bent down to nuzzle at his own groin.

Fenris enjoyed giving orgasms to Isabela. Isabela did not “do” feelings, but Fenris knew that she had them, buried not quite so deeply as she wished. Fenris acknowledged that he had feelings for the pirate as well. He felt no jealousy at the thought of Isabela and Anders having sex. Well, not with the idea of young Anders having sex with ‘Bela. It was entirely possible he would not feel the same way about his Anders.

His Anders. Best not to categorize the mage in that fashion. Fenris had gotten pleasure from the physical reaction of the Anders from Kirkwall to himself. This had gone beyond the release of taking an orgasm at someone’s hand or body. Or being used for someone else’s pleasure. Fenris did not wish to sully his enjoyment of this night with Danarius or Hadriana’s memory, but it had to be understood. Sex was something more than an animal rutting for release, a struggle for dominance. This had been a bonding of a sort. Shared experiences often did bond one with the most unlikely of companions. Hawke’s friendship had proven this to be true. 

Free of the abomination of the spirit, Justice, Anders was a new person. Still a mage, of course, and still weak-willed and prone to foolish emotional decisions, new and old at the same moment. Fenris did have the coiling-back of emotion that any touch on his soul would bring. It was not the hideous revulsion he had feared. Simply put, it was a need for solitude until he had sorted through the feelings, the thoughts, that the physical closeness, the emotional closeness of penetrating and being taken by another person presented. 

Of course, it would take longer than a single night to process through everything. Still and all, Fenris reveled in the quiet, as he shifted on the bench, deliberately stretching aching muscles to sit tailor-fashion on the worn wood, settling back against the coolness of the stone wall. Time now to think, to let the thoughts run their course and free his mind. He did not know what the future would bring, but certainly a number of pathways had opened that had been blocked before.


	13. Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course the Anders' morning after would not be the same as Fenris's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you beta-reader Lunamoth116!

Isabela was snuggled under the comfort of the quilt, the fire in her room deliberately put out so that the room would chill and she could enjoy the covers. When the Young Anders had pulled his robes back on, wincing slightly from the streaks her nails had left in his back, ready to leave, she had smirked at the thought of what might soon be occurring in the next room. Her body had tingled with the continuing flashes of residual memory from the electricity trick.

If she had not been so invested in Fenris, had not cared so much for him, for granting him this opportunity to deal with the wounds left by that bastard Danarius, Isabela might have tried for an Anders-’Bela-Anders sandwich. It would have been too much to hope for a slice of Fenris in that sandwich as well. Mmm, a small hum with a happy smile as she had put out the oil lamp. Friend-fiction would just have to do. Now her sleep was that of the very well-shagged.

...

Eyvindur breathed in the smell of Anders next to him, and the closed room where plenty of sex had taken place. The scent of that wafted to him from beyond. Firmly refusing to take anything seriously at the moment, the young mage was determined to enjoy himself. He would worry about the consequences, about the ramifications, when he got home and was debriefed by the Warden-Commander. After all, they’d refused to tell him even a sliver of information about the current state of Thedas - his future - while he was here. Other than that he’d played host to Justice, he hadn’t much clue beyond that Anders had landed on his feet in Kirkwall. Karl had died, but Anders would find friends again. 

For right now? More sex with Anders, since he could tell that Fenris had run off, until it was time for breakfast. Then possibly more sex before they managed to send him back home. A very good plan, Eyvindur thought.

When Anders woke up, he was swaddled in the tight embrace of his younger counterpart, flyaway blond hair tickling his face, arms and legs constricting around his body. Maker, he was like an octopus. Something to remember for when next Anders slept with...well, anyone. Fenris was gone, of course. It did not surprise Anders that Fenris had gone. It did not hurt either; it just was.

Anders was a healer. While he had not bedded Fenris to heal him, there had been an element of it in their lovemaking. Making love, because he had no other description for what had occurred, considering that it had been well beyond fucking. Oh, this felt good, this relaxed and wonderful feeling of being desired and acceptance of his desire. Blowing a wisp of soft blond hair out of his mouth, Anders considered that the old days, when he had fallen into bed with anyone who appealed, were never going to return. Anders was not the same person as the man he held in his arms. When had that happened? Had it been Justice who was the catalyst? Or Hawke?

And as for Eyvindur, Anders liked him, felt attracted to him. To himself? It was admittable, that he was a funny, bright, clever young man. Not repulsive at all. Hopefully Eyvindur’s evening with Isabela had been fun. Certainly she had left her mark on him. It was impossible to avoid seeing that. What would this mean for his own relationship with the pirate? Anders had no clue. Best to take things as they came, he decided.

For now, for the moment, he was alone in his body. It was an odd feeling. _Nobody here but us chickens_ , the mage thought, though quick to qualify that Justice was no fox out to steal and destroy. There would always be that defensiveness, the mage expected. Anders wondered when the grief, the loss would come crashing in to overwhelm him. Mostly right now he felt gratitude. Grateful that Eyvindur was here, that Fenris had been here last night, and that Isabela, in her own devious way, had conspired to put these people where he needed them when he needed them most. Grateful that he had shared with Justice, and that they were able to return the spirit to the Fade.

Ah, Eyvindur would be awake shortly, as the symbol of his interest was rubbing seriously against Anders’s leg. Mmmm, morning sex. Always a wonderful way to start a day. “I know you’re awake,” mumbled the young blond man in his arms. “Your breathing is different.”

“M’awake,” Anders smiled. “M’thinking about what to do next.”

“Breakfast?” laughed Eyvindur.

Anders laughed, “If you insist,” and sitting up he reached for his tunic across the bottom of the bed, only to be pulled backward into a kiss and a caress.

It was comfortable kissing now; morning taste was not too unbearable, and soon passed as tongues began a slow exploration, with Anders crawling sideways to reach below his lover’s collarbone, yet allow Eyvindur to mouth at his body in return. Eyvindur rolled to straddle the older mage, biting, sucking, licking along the thin length of him to reach a cock all too happy to be greeted with tongue and lip and some very skilled suckling. Anders reached up to take the dangling erection somewhat in hand, but mostly in mouth as well. 

This time they went slowly, taking time to tease, to draw out the pleasure. With a groan Anders gave Eyvindur a shove that toppled him over. “Eyvindur.” Anders drew the name out, enjoying the sound of it on his tongue.

“Hmmm?” The young blonde sat up. “Yes, Eyvindur?” he mocked gently.

Anders rolled to kneel on the bed, beckoning the other man to him. “Let me look at you.” Anders drew his long fingers down the side of Eyvindur’s face, exploring the once-familiar features. Eyvindur’s skin was softer, his face rounder, and the blond stubble on his jaw rasped against Anders’s fingertips.

A shy smile grew on Eyvindur’s younger face, and he reached fingers unstained by elfroot or potion-making to touch his older self in copy. The blond hair that fingers slipped through had strands of grey disappearing into the gold. 

Hands followed the leader down the long neck, across the strong shoulders, and down to stroke across one chest muscled more strongly and the thinner older man’s. Fingers trailed across flanks and legs, totally passing by the hardness prominently exposed between those legs. Eyvindur watched Anders’s face as he copied him, smiling slightly.

Anders gave him a grin, then moved forward, arms surrounding, sliding past to allow the touching to begin at the top of the spine, to trace scars, knobs of vertebrae, lines of muscle. They were tight against each other, chest to chest, groin to groin slightly rubbing, cheek to cheek, exploring without the sense of sight. Anders’s eyes were closed; it seemed the thing to do, to concentrate on the information his skin was bringing to him. 

Rank on rank of flogging scores, slashes across skin from darkspawn, the bump of mended bone from ribs kicked in by a templar’s boot. Bone was always so difficult to heal. “Let me see your back,” Anders murmured. 

That was a cocky look, as the blond crawled around on the bed, smiling back over the scarred shoulder. Anders traced the history of his punishments - flogging, a brand, darkspawn wounds left too long unattended. His fingers pressed down strongly enough not to tickle. The touch was not erotic. Careful, perhaps patient. “Felt these made, every one. I have never been able to see them, Eyvindur.”

“Hmm.” Then a laugh. “I saw them in the woods, when I had you bent over that rock.” It was a purr.

Anders leaned forward, pressing lips against the white lines, while glowing fingers healed the scratches from Isabela's long nails. Eyvindur scooted back, pulling Anders’s arms forward to around that waist - familiar, but not as starved, as thin as his own. Eyvindur was grinding his arse against Anders’s groin, thrusting against Anders’s now uncertain erection, dragging his mind back from a very bad place. “Don’t fall asleep on me, Anders,” came the tenor whisper.

A laugh. “Well, what would you like next?” The question was interrupted with Eyvindur’s quick hands to either side of his face, drawing him in for a thorough claiming of Anders’ mouth. 

No words after that, none needed as the young blond guided Anders’s fingers down to prepare him. Clever boy, when had he gotten Varric’s small jar of oil? Then pulling Anders down on top, eyes on each other’s faces, Eyvindur gave himself over into his double’s hands, so to speak. Anders took his time, moving to brush that all important bundle of nerves, pausing when sunk deep inside his counterpart, then smilingly sent a pulse of energy down into the body. Each thrust built onto the next, until Eyvindur’s moans grew. His hand lifted, fingers jammed between his teeth to stifle the sounds. Anders reached, took hold of both wrists and lifted them, tight against the bed above Eyvindur’s head. “I want to hear you, Eyvindur,” Anders laughed. “Show me, you can be as loud as you wish.”

...

There was a knock at Isabela’s door. “Come!” came the response, and Fenris poked his head inside.

“Isabela, are you ready yet?” Fenris asked, then winced at the sounds coming from next door.

The pirate smiled. “Well, I am, but we won’t be leaving for a while, Fenris. We have time. Does Hawke know what our two mages are up to?”

The _elvhen_ warrior made a face. “Everyone in the common room downstairs can hear what they’re doing. Most of the locals left as soon as they broke fast. How can you stand to be in here listening to that?”

“Well, you were listening to it last night, and didn’t seem to have a problem,” Isabela smirked. “I could distract you, if you like? Or we could try to outdo them?”

Thoughtful eyes turned toward the mages’ room. “No, I think I will join Sebastian in the courtyard.”

“Suit yourself, sweet thing!” And Isabela returned to polishing her daggers.


	14. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sending Eyvindur, mage of Vigil's Keep, home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lunamoth116 for reading and beta-ing!

The mountainside, the groves of trees in the sunshine, the sounds of birdsong through the canopy of leaves, were familiar and odd when they returned to the altar in the afternoon. This was the place they had climbed to reach the day before, and they had spent the day here, but Anders felt strange to look at the altar and not be the person lying upon it. Eyvindur, standing before him, took Anders’s face in a hand, turned it so their eyes met. “My adventure this time. Right?” The young blond smirked.

“Hard not to be concerned over my own welfare, isn’t it?” It was said lightly. The grin, joyful and uncontained in response, brought one to his own face. Anders leaned forward to knock his forehead gently against Eyvindur’s. “Take care. Please?”

The younger man laughed. “As I always do! And you as well. Enjoy your life, Anders. It seems to be a good one! Stay safe. Stay free!”

The worn, older man dragged Eyvindur into a tight embrace. “I will.”

A teasing contralto sounded behind them: “Are we going to be treated to some spontaneous sex on that perfectly good flat surface now?”

Hawke grabbed Isabela in a throat hold. “We’ve waited long enough, ‘Bela! Don’t encourage any more behavior that might make Sebastian and Fenris blow a blood vessel.”

The “Aw!” of disappointment dissolved into laughter as the pair wrestled, drawing attention and giving the two mages a small private space. “You won’t tell me what I will be facing. But I will make it to this point. So that’s all good, yes?” Eyvindur had not released Anders from the hug.

“Live your life, Eyvindur. Understand that you are a good person. A good man! Someone worth loving.” Anders didn’t want to let go, but relaxed his grip when the younger man moved away.

Their matching brown eyes met. “Sat up thinking that bit of wisdom, did you? ‘What last words shall I say, before sending myself off to face his doom?’” It was said with a light tone, but the look in the younger eyes was frightened.

“Of course! I wanted to give you something to think about. Possibly I should have said, ‘Just think of the enjoyable sex you can have with Nathaniel and Sigrun when you get back to Vigil’s! What haven’t you tried yet?’ instead?” Worry was evident in the older man’s eyes.

“Hmmm. Yes, I like that distraction much better. Live well, Anders!” And with a clap on the shoulder the younger version of himself turned and walked to where Merrill was waiting impatiently. At her gesture he climbed up onto the altar and lay down on his back. “Thank you all for a pleasant evening,” were his last words before gesturing at himself for Merrill to Get On With It.

Anders was aware that Sebastian was praying at the edge of the grove. Aveline was guarding the pathway. Varric watched avidly, no doubt already writing the account in his head. Hawke caught Anders’s eye and winked. She seemed to have no doubt that this would work. Isabela stood at her side watching with interest. 

And Fenris? Anders knew that Fenris was standing at his shoulder, slightly behind. It was quite possible that the _elvhen_ was waiting for him to turn into a raging monster, but Anders had some doubt about that. It felt comforting to have the man there, standing at his shoulder. It felt...sympathetic somehow. Though Maker alone knew how long it would take before they returned to their old antagonism.

Merrill scattered some crushed leaves along the unmoving body on the altar from blond head to low-booted toe, then began to sing in Elvish. The cadence was speaking to Anders, the words that he could not understand reached for him, pulled at him. He took a step forward, and felt a hand on his shoulder. “It is best if you do not go with him,” Fenris said.

Oh. No! Anders had no desire to go back to Vigil’s Keep at that point in time. He stood still and watched the ritual increase in tone and volume until a “pop” sounded, and the altar was empty. Anders, Eyvindur, himself - he was gone. 

Varric, Isabela and Hawke crowded around the exhausted Merrill, while Sebastian gathered up ingredients and implements. Anders found himself thanking the bloodmage more sincerely than he could remember ever speaking those words before. And then, moving back into the formation that was so much a custom, the party moved out, leaving the clearing to go home.

Instead of the inn, that night was spent in their bedrolls around the small fire Anders created using a pile of wood left by the trailside. Hawke cooked while the others tended their equipment. Anders sat down next to Fenris, who simply glanced at him before going back to using his whetstone. “I wanted to thank you.” Anders cleared his throat. “I appreciated your support during the ritual.”

Fenris nodded. Anders went on, “And about last night...”

Fenris finished the sentence for him, “We will not be able to use the cots in your clinic, Anders. We will break them. Better to continue our... ‘discussion’ from last night either at the Hanged Man, or my home. Are you agreeable?”

The elf felt Anders twitch. “Yes.” Anders did not try to keep the happiness from his voice. “Yes, I think you are right. And I am agreeable.”

Anders went to his bedroll that night thinking that he was not quite so alone as he had thought. He had much to think about, rolled up in his blankets and looking up at the sprinkle of constellations in the black sky. His thoughts were of Eyvindur, about the future, and Justice. Fenris wondered, as did they all, whether the Young Anders had made it home safely.


	15. Completion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, young Anders of Vigil's Keep returns home to the Grey Wardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support from Lunamoth116! It was fun to re-read this story, and polish it up a bit!

“Anders!” He was being strongly shaken.

Eyvindur opened his eyes to find himself in a storage room in Vigil’s Keep - one of the lower levels, he guessed, close to the Deep Roads. He could smell the Deep Roads. And dust. Light flickered from a torch hooked on to the wall of the rectangular room. “What?” It came out annoyed. “Sigrun, what do you want?”

She dropped him. “Blight take it!” The blond mage rubbed the side of his head where it had impacted the floor. “What did you do that for?”

“No reason much,” Sigrun replied. “So long as you’re actually Anders.”

“Oh, and I suppose I’m someone else, a templar maybe?” A strong stench of rot was present as well, so Justice was here. “What are we doing in the basement? Weren’t we in the woods?”

Nathaniel’s voice sounded from out in the hall: “Is he awake yet?”

Sigrun replied in the affirmative. “But he thinks we were in the woods.” Helping the mage stand, she gave him a slam of her open palm against his arm. “Don’t frighten me like that!”

“Like what? What happened? Why am I covered with pieces of green - what are these, leaves?” Anders swayed as he stood, black sparks floating up across his vision.

Nathaniel appeared in the doorway, Justice’s corpse - well, Kristoff’s corpse with Justice inside it - behind him. “I swear, Anders, if you’ve been experimenting again the Warden-Commander is going to kill you. Then I will, for good measure.”

Anders swallowed hard. “Experimenting? With what? What happened? Why are we in the storeroom?”

Justice’s reverberation started, “You disappeared in the Deep Roads, Anders. Below Vigil’s Keep. You did not seem to have been transferred to the Fade as before. Then you reappeared.”

“With a pop.” Sigrun waved her arms. “A loud ‘pop’! You said, ‘Oh, good!’, then collapsed on the floor. I brought you here while Nathaniel and Justice cleared the last of the Darkspawn we’d attracted. So. Where did you go?”

“I have a vague memory.” Anders felt fuzzy. “Of lots of sex.”

Sigrun laughed, “Couldn’t have been lots. You were only gone for a few moments.”

Nathaniel was now looking him in the eyes, searching for damage of some sort? “Anders, Justice says that you weren’t in the Fade. Were there demons where you were? Of course, you might not have known. That it was a demon you were having sex with.”

The blond mage raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

A...harrumph would be the only word to describe the sound the archer made. “You blink out of existence, then come back in covered in pieces of leaves. You tell us you have memories of sex and you expect that, after all we have been though with Blackmarsh, we would not be concerned about demonic possession?”

That made some form of sense. “I suppose it is a concern. I hardly think, though, that a demon attempting possession would tell me to come back and have incredible sex with you and Sigrun, now would it?”

Sigrun’s grin was welcome, though Nathaniel scowled, “If something was trying to take all of us, it might.”

A heavy sigh. Anders stood straight, closed his eyes and worked to clear his head. “It’s a little blurry. I remember being in a place. A grove. There were people who said I was not supposed to be there. They were going to try to send me back here. There was a blond. Mmm. Lots of sex. Then they covered me with the leaves and a Dalish woman sent me back here. Not Velanna. This one was short, sweet, and apparently a reformed blood mage. _Not_ using Blood Magic to send me back here.

“Nope, no demons. No offering me anything. No attempt at an exchange. And as for the sex, well, I made the first move, so...no tempting there either. In fact, I had to be quite seductive about all of it, as I recall. Though it is hard to remember. Seems like a dream.”

Nathaniel was still scowling. “I suppose it won’t hurt to have Velanna check you over. And we will need to tell the Commander about it.”

Sigrun cheerfully wondered, “Another adventure?”

Velanna looked up with a scowl as the four Grey Wardens crowded into the component garden on the side of Vigil’s Keep shielded from the winds. The Dalish woman had claimed it for her own, and now it twined with thorned vines and plants that Anders needed a book to recognize. He tended to wait for Velanna to bring him the components, rather than work side by side with her to gather them. The former Keeper’s First began all interactions with irritation. “What do you want?” was snapped.

Nathaniel smiled slightly. He was unfailingly polite, and at times Anders wondered. Velanna was the only Warden that received his positive attention in that way. Still and all, Anders and Sigrun had other aspects of his attention, and the mage was perfectly happy with those. “My lady,” Nathaniel asked lightly, “would you please look Anders over? He has been involved in mysterious events. Again.”

Velanna’s smiles were only ever for Nathaniel. This was small, but still a smile. “What has happened?”

“Anders disappeared, Velanna!” Sigrun hopped up on a potting table, disregarding the layer of soil and spell components littering the top.

“It was in the Deep Roads. There was a popping sound and I was gone. Moments later another pop and I was returned, covered in these.” Anders held out a palm covered with scraps of green leaf.

Velanna examined the ripped bits, her nose wrinkled as she prodded one with a dirt-encrusted finger. “Whatever this is, it doesn’t grow around here, Nathaniel.” Then thoughtfully, “Anders was covered with this when he came back?”

“I am standing right here.”

“Yes.” Nathaniel ignored him. “And there was a popping when he disappeared.” Sigrun used a finger to duplicate a pop with her cheek. “Not quite like that, but it’s close enough. The sound was louder when Anders came back. And a breeze.” The dark man was working to remember exactly.

“Air being pushed,” was Sigrun’s description. “But only when he came back.”

Anders sighed, and began poking about in the pots set around Sigrun’s perch. “Don’t touch anything, Anders, or I’ll give you a rash that will make your rashvine infection pale in comparison,” Velanna growled. “Nathaniel -” this was the Dalish woman’s version of charming “- he disappeared, with a pop, then reappeared with a pop and a movement in the air. Anything else?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Though Anders says he was in another place. For an entire night. He was only gone for a matter of moments. And that he was sent back by the people he met there.”

“Don’t I get a chance to tell you about it?” Anders was outraged. Justice had been standing behind him, close. Anders turned. “Justice! Andraste’s sake, give me some space!”

“No.” It was Velanna. “Tell me after I look you over.”

“You are offended, Anders. It is my decaying body, is it not?” Justice asked at the same time.

A groan, then Anders held his arm out to Velanna. “Get on with it, Velanna. Justice, no. Please excuse me. You are not that body. It’s Kristoff’s. We just need to find you something else, or get you home -” and he stopped, holding his breath.

“What?” Nathaniel leaned forward to look in his face. “What are you remembering?”

“Nothing,” Anders finally sighed. “Just a feeling of déjà vu. Velanna, get _on_ with it! I’m tired of hanging around being talked about.”

The Keeper’s First took the proffered arm and the light of a scanning spell began to wash over the blond mage. Anders relaxed into the familiar flow of magic, waiting. “He’s clean. No disease, other than the Taint, nothing wrong that I can see.” Velanna’s short, sharp report indicated that she was finished. They should leave. Now.

Nathaniel was not finished. “Can you tell if he’s been possessed?”

Velanna’s arm whipped forward and a bolt of light shot through Anders’s chest. “Ow!” he shouted, more from shock than pain.

The _elvhen_ woman turned to face Nathaniel. “No.” Then when the man looked confused, she clarified with a sigh, “No, Anders has not been possessed by a ‘demon’, or more correctly, by any spirit from the Fade.”

“How do you know?” Sigrun cocked her head.

They were getting on Velanna’s last nerve, and she wanted to finish her work. “If Anders were possessed, then he would have attacked me when I sent the bolt through him. Or the spirit or ‘demon’ would have. He is not possessed. Leave now.”

“Well,” Anders grumbled, “I feel so loved,” as they walked away, the mage being guided toward the Warden Commander’s office.

Sigrun laughed, “We all love you, Anders. But, you know how Velanna is...”

Warden-Commander Elissa Cousland grilled Anders. Each vague detail that was revealed was examined minutely. Then questioning brought more details to light. The details, though, were fading. Anders told the Commander he was trying to catch hold of a dream. “I remember a mirror,” Anders said tiredly. “Looking at myself in a mirror. Seeing myself in the future. Older, tired. But,” he said as he remembered, “free. I was free, Commander.”

The Warden-Commander looked at him gravely. “You will always be a Grey Warden, Anders.”

“No, you don’t understand. I was living as a free mage. Still tainted. Still a Grey Warden, but not under Circle control. Not under Templar supervision! Able to live my life!” Anders felt a small amount of energy return.

“A mirror of what will be? Or one of what you wanted to see, Anders? The old stories tell one to avoid magic mirrors.” That was humorous.

Anders looked at his company. Nathaniel, Sigrun, Justice in the decaying remains of Kristoff, and Elissa Cousland, his Commander. “It doesn’t matter. Freedom for mages is not a bad goal, is it? I’ve sought for freedom for myself. You know that. But it gives me a glad heart to know that mages can be free.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “A long and difficult task, Anders.”

“A worthy one,” rumbled Justice approvingly.

The Warden-Commander shook her head, smiling that lush curve of mouth. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Anders? Hearing any voices? Voices telling you to do anything?”

It was an impish grin she received in reply. “The only voice in my head is my own, saying ‘Just think of the enjoyable sex you can have with Nathaniel and Sigrun when you get back to Vigil’s! What haven’t you tried yet?’” His smile lit up, and he began to laugh at the astonished faces of his colleagues. No. Of his friends. They all knew he was promiscuous, but like most Circle mages it was not something to speak of, to let anyone know about a relationship. 

“Well,” Nathaniel said dryly, “What else were we expecting?”


End file.
